


Cold

by jasmasson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-20
Updated: 2007-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmasson/pseuds/jasmasson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had no resistance at all to a Sammy watching him expectantly with those puppy dog eyes; just waiting for his big brother Dean to give him what he wanted. Still, luckily for Dean, Sam was fifteen and therefore a whiny bitch most of the time, which Dean had a much higher resistance to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta** : Thanks to the beautiful [](http://candygramme.livejournal.com/profile)[**candygramme**](http://candygramme.livejournal.com/) who is, quite frankly, made of win.  
> 

***

The fact that Sam’s friends all thought Dean was a God did Dean no favors at all.

In fact it made things worse.

A pretty, red headed girl who Dean had given a ride home to before with Sam waved shyly at him as she walked past the car and blushed furiously when he winked back at her.

 _Down boy_ , Dean thought. _Jailbait!_ Also? Sam would kill him.

It _should_ have helped, Dean thought, that he was so overwhelmingly cool. He might have been ugly, smelly, picking Sam up in a _Volvo_ , with electro pop on the stereo, so all Sam’s friends could snicker rather than swoon with lust (girls) or envy (boys, about the car or, obviously, the swooning girls).

There were older brothers out there, Dean thought righteously, that would die before giving their kid brother and his friends a ride home, and would certainly never take them for shakes and fries on the way. Hell, that would steal their lunch money and buy _themselves_ fries with it.

Of course, most big brothers didn’t actually _give_ their brothers their lunch money in the first place. Dean’s job as a mechanic didn’t pay much, but what he had he mostly spent on Sam. He spent it on buying food for them both. He spent it on buying Sam new clothes. Man, the kid was growing fast. He was only an inch shorter than Dean now. It was pretty damn annoying.

Talking of annoying, it had now been eight minutes since the last kid had left, and Dean could see Sam’s tall figure still talking to the teacher through the window of the small hall that housed the drama club’s rehearsals.

He knew Sam was making him wait on purpose, but he had a bet with himself that his brother wouldn’t make him wait more than ten minutes. Dean’s patience wasn’t all that, even for Sammy, and – as Sam no doubt knew – after ten minutes he was going in, and if he was going in he was so humiliating Sam any way he could… probably by flirting with the drama teacher who, in silhouette at least, looked worth a shot. Stacked.

As expected, nine minutes and thirty seconds after the last kid had left, and Dean was just about to switch off Led Zeppelin, Sam slouched out.

No friends this time, again as expected. Shame. Dean _loved_ giving Sam’s friends a ride, which only Sam’s innate niceness forced him to offer if the weather was bad, because Sam hated it.

*Ohh, Dean, it’s so kind of you!*

*Awesome car, man!*

*Whoa, I love your jacket!*

*Thank you so much for the ride!*

Sam hated it when his friends so clearly thought Dean was fantastic, and Dean suspected it made him feel slightly guilty about the shit he gave Dean, when he was clearly thought to be just the most _awesome_ big brother by everyone else - something that was just fine by Dean.

Sam said nothing when he got into the Impala, not _quite_ slamming the door, because Dean _would not_ let that go.

Dean started the car and debated whether it was worth having this argument for the nine billionth time.

“You’re late,” he said, and he couldn’t quite keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Get detention?”

“You didn’t have to wait,” Sam said sulkily. “I can walk the two miles back to the house.”

“You don’t walk home on your own, Sam,” Dean said, as patiently as he could.

“Why?” Sam whined, and Dean considered pulling over to better slap him on the head. “It’s so hypocritical!”

Dean ground his teeth and recited Sam’s whine along with him in his head.

“You and Dad won’t let me walk two miles on safe streets…”

Sam paused, because sometimes Dean cut in with _no streets are safe_ at this point, but today he didn’t. That added extra time to the rant, and Dean would rather it was over quickly, today. He was tired. Also, he liked to mix it up a little bit.

“… but you take me…” _Witch?_ Dean speculated. _Banshee? Poltergeist? Demon?_ “…succubus hunting…” _Huh, a new one, nice one Sammy,_ “…with you, which I think is really more dangerous than crossing at Second and Main!”

When Dean was looking for a fight he made the argument, _but you’re armed then_ , because not even John Winchester sent his kids to school with weaponry, while Dean had a gun tucked in his jeans even as they spoke, or _we’re saving people then; it’s worth it_ , but not usually what he really meant, which was, _and I’m with you then_.

He knew there were some holes in this argument but, nonetheless, he wouldn’t let Sammy walk home on his own, and that was that. Sam had never won this argument with Dad or Dean, even though he’d been serious enough about it to try the usually bulletproof pleading puppy dog eyes, along with how _happy_ it would make him to feel that normal. Except on the matter of Sam’s safety, Dean had no resistance at all to a Sammy watching him expectantly with those puppy dog eyes; just waiting for his big brother Dean to give him what he wanted. Still, luckily for Dean, Sam was fifteen and therefore a whiny bitch most of the time, and Dean had a much higher resistance to that.

But Dean was tired, he started his job damned early, so he could finish in time to pick Sam up, which meant he was tired most of the weekday evenings, particularly when Dad was away, and he had to see to dinner and salting the doors and windows and doing protection spells and charms.

So he threw out a peace offering, even though Sam was _totally_ in the wrong, as always.

“You want to get pizza?”

Sam’s stomach rumbled on cue, which made him blush fairly cutely.

“Yeah.”

Food was still a good way to get Sam to forget he was a sulky teenager. Sam was eating like a goddamned horse, and Dean could still sometimes get a smile out of Sam, still catch a glimpse of his Sammy, with a well timed slice of pepperoni.

Not that Sam looked much like his Sammy, these days. Despite the shameless bribery in saturated fat Dean employed, Sam was skinny as a rake.

Dean remembered little chubby hands clutching his, sticky and clammy, back when Sam was a toddler, nothing like the long, strong hands Sam had now. Dean remembered Sam’s soft, pudgy body pressed against his every night, cuddled up tight, warm and _safe_ against Dean’s chest, before Sam grew out of hugs and kisses along with his baby fat.

Sam had definitely been a chubby kid, for which _just possibly_ Dean and Dad had to take some of the blame, because even before Sam had begun to need junk food to make him smile, both Dean and Dad had indulged him shamelessly. _Mom dead? No home? Monsters real? Nothing we can do about that, but, here. Have a cookie._

Then, at thirteen, two things had happened. Sam had commenced the first of his now notorious growth spurts, and Dad had upped his PT in preparation for hunting.

It seemed to Dean that Sam had become tall and skinny practically overnight. Dean took some credit for Sam’s height, because he’d forced Sam to have a glass of milk every day of his life as he’d worried that diner living might stunt Sam’s growth. Apparently, that concern had been unfounded. He took no credit for Sam’s skinniness, though, but at this stage in his life, Sam’s metabolism was taking on all comers and winning hands down. Dean figured Sam could eat every waking minute and still be skinny right now.

Dean’s train of thought made him glance at Sam, and where Sam was sitting his (too small, dammit _still_ growing) T-Shirt had ridden up, exposing a line of flat, smooth belly and hip bones as sharp as Sam’s favorite knife.

Dean looked away, mouth suddenly dry. They’d have pepperoni tonight, he decided, even though Dean didn’t really like it.

***

Sam was waiting for Dean the next day.

“Hey,” Sam said, smiling. _Smiling_!

“Hey.”

Dean pulled out of the parking lot and listened as Sam hummed along to Metallica.

“You want to go to the park?” Sam asked.

Dean was forcibly reminded of the number of times he’d suggested that after picking Sam up, only to have Sam’s eyes slide to his rucksack and get a recital of Sam’s homework for his trouble.

“Sure.”

He bought Sam a hot dog at the park, and then they sat on the car and watched a bunch of kids playing baseball.

They bet M&Ms on each play, and ended up with about half each. If Dean had _known_ , he’d have come before and studied form (M&Ms were a serious business), but he hadn’t, so it was pretty much luck.

When Sam won three in a row and crowed in victory, Dean shoved him off the car, laughing as Sam flailed as he slid off the waxed hood, unable to control his newly long limbs in time.

“Bitch!” But Sam was laughing as he picked himself up off the dirt.

“Jerk.”

It was good to hear Sam laugh, because teenagers in general weren’t disposed to laughter, and particularly not at themselves.

Dean memorized the sound and hoped to God that whatever it was that Sammy wanted was something Dean was going to be able to give, because he felt more whole than he had in a long time right now, and he didn’t want to think about the weeks ahead if he didn’t come through.

“So,” Sam began, apparently deciding that he’d softened Dean up enough, “my biology class is arranging a field trip the weekend after next.”

“Mmm,” Dean said, knowing that wasn’t everything.

“We’re heading out to the lake to look at the marine wildlife and, uh, camping out on the Saturday night.”

Dean didn’t let his groan out, even as he visualized weeks of Sam spending all night in the bedroom, barely grunting, until Dean even missed the moaning.

When Sam wasn’t talking he had two types of silence. One was contemplative brooding, just the general, hormonally driven ‘I’m a teenager, and I’m not very happy about it’, and the other was the dreaded sulky brooding. There was a different _quality_ to the silences; one went on around Dean, and one was directed _at_ him. He could easily tell the difference. He always knew when he was being punished, even if he didn’t always know why.

Dean just shrugged though, and kept his voice casual.

“Not a chance.”

“Dean…”

“Sam. There is no way you’re sleeping outside with no weapons, no salt lines, no protection of any kind.” Dean was annoyed at Sam for asking for something so impossible. “Get real.”

“It wouldn’t be like that, Dean. There’ll be adults there, and there’ll be a ranger with a _shotgun_ in case of wildlife.”

“Gonna be loaded with salt or silver, is it? Cos maybe they can take care of an angry squirrel, but they’re gonna struggle with a werewolf.”

“No, but you could take care of that,” Sam said.

“Huh?”

“I asked,” Sam was looking awfully smug. “They could use another adult. You could come along.”

“On a school trip?” Dean asked, incredulously. “On a Saturday?” He paused for another moment. “With a _gun_?”

“Please?” Sam had the puppy dog eyes out in full force, and Dean looked away.

“You must be joking,” he said, but he was already thinking about how the hell he was going to conceal guns on a school trip, and wondering if rearranging his date with Susie for Friday meant he was less likely to get lucky. Probably.

“Please, Dean?” Dean knew Sam was wise enough not to whine about how he could really go on his own and how stupid it was that he needed a baby sitter, because starting an argument with Dean was not his best laid plan, because Sam knew perfectly well it would make it a lot easier for Dean to say no.

When Sam was five he’d followed Dean around like a puppy. At nine, Dean had wanted to play with the other kids his age and had run away from Sam, telling him to go home and leave him alone. He’d looked back, though, to check Sam was obeying, which had been a fatal mistake, because, of course, he wasn’t. He’d been running uselessly after Dean on stumpy little legs, tears on his chubby face. Dean had spent all day, every day, for the next week at Sammy’s beck and call, trying to make it up to him. Which had made Sam happy, because all he’d wanted then was to spend time with his big brother.

Those days were long gone.

In fact, Sam must want to go on this trip very, very badly to permit his freakish home life to collide with his school life by allowing Dean to go along.

“Why do you want to go so badly, Sammy?”

Sam’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t remind Dean his name was _Sam_. He clearly wanted to go very badly indeed.

“You got a serious geek hard on for biology, or have you got a girl?” Dean teased.

Sam blushed, and Dean realized that, whaddya know? Sam did have a girl.

“Shut up,” Sam said, frowning and blushing slightly, good mood slipping off his face.

A girl for his baby brother. In some ways it was not before time, because as far as Dean was aware (and Dean was the foremost expert on Sam Winchester), Sam had never even been kissed. Dean had been a little bit worried, because Sam seemed to be a very late developer to Dean’s eyes.

Sam was already two years older than Dean had been when Stacey Cox had taken him from the diner where she’d worked back to her small apartment and made him a man. Dean had always been grateful to her, brassy, busty and bossy; she’d seemed old to him, certainly vastly experienced and worldly, but in retrospect she’d probably only been about eighteen.

She’d taught him well, patient and kind, directing him minutely, educating rather than embarrassing, ( _Higher. Lower. Harder. Not yet. There._ slap _Never without asking first._ ) and he’d been an eager, curious student. Sam wouldn’t have that if he was crushing on an inexperienced class mate, but probably they’d work it out. Dean hoped so, anyway; the idea of a Winchester man being bad in bed was unacceptable.

Sam’s mood was sinking under his embarrassment, and Dean elbowed him in the ribs before it became a lost cause.

“You help me detail the Impala, clean _all_ the weapons and clean up the yard, and I’ll come.” Dean might be a pushover, but he wasn’t an idiot.

Sam looked outraged by this, but swallowed down his protests.

“OK,” Sam said. He even managed to sound gracious. “Thanks.”

***

The whole enterprise hung in the balance when Dad called, because while Dean had been able to talk Dad into letting Sam and him stay in one place while Dad hunted, until the end of the school year, and even into letting Sam take part in the school play, Dean was pretty sure he’d take a dim view of camping.

But he wasn’t going to be back until the next week, so it was all systems go.

Sam had been (almost) uncomplaining in upholding his part of the bargain, and Dean had scored a multiple win as he’d gained a sparkling car, tidy yard and guns in tiptop condition as well as keeping Sam from wasting away over his books in their room. When cleaning the Impala, of course they’d had a water fight, and Dean had gained mastery of the hose, and soaked Sam, until his T-Shirt clung to his skinny ribs and flat belly, and his jeans had got so heavy with water they’d been falling off his narrow hips.

Sam’s changeable teenage mood was good enough to respond with nothing more than dire threats of vengeance _when Dean was least expecting it_ , and Sam grinned up from under silky, soaked bangs.

Dean sent Sam back into the house to change and order pizza while he finished up, not thinking about Sam’s lean body under wet, too-small clothes.

Sam was even generous – giving things Dean wasn’t quite prepared to girly up enough to bargain for – and watched bad horror movies with Dean on the couch a few nights that week, falling asleep drooling on Dean’s shoulder and breathing warm, damp, popcorn-salty breath against Dean’s neck.

***

Dean took two guns on the school trip. One loaded with rock salt and one with silver bullets. He took normal bullets as well, because damned if he really trusted a park ranger. And two knives, one silver. A flask of holy water. A few books of exorcism rituals. And a flare. The School of John Winchester beat the Boy Scouts any day.

He’d rather have had the guns tucked in his jeans for easy access, but it was not inconceivable, in fact it was quite likely that one of Sam’s classmates might check out his ass, and Sam would never forgive him if he was caught. So. In the backpack. But as accessible as possible.

Dean wasn’t really expecting any trouble. Of course Dad had destroyed the werewolf that had brought them to this town originally, and when Dean had begged him to let them stay for the school year – logic, reason and pleading far more persuasive than Sammy’s tantrums – Dad had tracked down anything with the merest whisper of the supernatural within a thirty mile radius before he’d consented to let them stay alone.

Still, the supernatural could emerge at any time, and often lay dormant, undisturbed for up to centuries, so Dean was still on edge, wondering why he’d agreed to this… until he caught another glance of Sammy’s sunny smile.

Dean drove them to the school where they were going to get a minibus to the campsite. A minibus. Dean loved his brother a whole lot, but that was nearly a deal breaker. As they approached the school Sam began shifting in his seat, fiddling with his bag and even _touching his hair_. He was nervous. Sammy was nervous. Sammy, always so sure of himself and everything and everyone around him since he’d reached ten years old. _Nervous_. Dean grinned, happy at the thought that Sammy was uncertain of something. God, hormones were cruel.

“Now, Sammy, are you gonna hold my hand like a good boy while we’re out there?” Dean asked as they pulled up

“Fuck off,” Sam said, not even sparing him a glance.

They got out of the car, both shouldering their duffels. Dean patted the Impala’s hood _sorry, baby_ where she’d stay overnight in the school parking lot.

A couple of kids walked by and one girl, short, blonde and bouncy smiled at Sam.

“Hi Sam.”

Sam blushed to the roots of his hair, “Hi Katie.”

Dean sniggered and nudged Sam in the ribs as he whispered/sang, “Sammy and Katie sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Sam said again, with vehemence this time.

“She’s pretty cute, Sammy,” Dean teased. “Maybe I should get to know her myself.”

“Don’t!” Sam sounded alarmed. “Dean, don’t.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam’s scared, beseeching look. He hadn’t been able to get that reaction out of Sammy for _years_ , not since Sam realized Dean was incapable of hurting Sam, or letting him down in any way that counted, prank wars notwithstanding.

Dean just leered, and Sam glared back, stalking away. Sighing, Dean followed. Dollars to donuts Sam was going to try and ignore him this whole trip. Fabulous.

He checked the other ‘adult supervision’. All _really_ adult; none below thirty five he guessed. What fun Dean was going to have.

A couple more girls walked by and sized Dean up, giggling. Well. Dean could make his own fun.

***

Dean wasn’t mean or needy enough to make his little brother sit with him, and Sam sat a distance away from Dean on the minibus with his friends and the lovely little Katie, who sat next to him.

The other girls in Sam’s class appeared to be unable to believe their luck at the older, handsome guy accompanying them, and clustered in the seats around him. Those who knew him through Sam were gaining instant kudos in the other girls’ eyes.

Dean was surrounded by nubile young flesh and bubble gum smiles. The girls let their skirts ruffle up above their knees, and twirled their hair and pursed their glossy pink lips.

Dean grinned at them, charming and wide, and let one of them, Carrie, brush an imaginary mark off his cheek, causing her to face to flame, and the girls to burst into giggles. Dean could feel Sam’s attention riveted on him – glare burning into his neck – and doubled his efforts.

***

By the time they reached their destination he was pretty sure the girls were all going to be doodling Mrs. Carrie/Amy/Lucy/Marie Winchester on their notes for a while.

Sam glared daggers at him as he passed, and then proceeded to ignore him as camps were set up.

He watched Sam and three other guys he would share with set up one of the school tents in the middle of the camp. They’d had a furious, wordless conversation with head-jerks, and scowling and deliberate eyebrow raising, that had essentially amounted to _Set your tent up in the middle. No, it’s not cool. In the_ middle _. No. Don’t make me come over there and tell you in front of all your little friends._

Dean set up his own single – near enough to Sam’s to reassure Dean, far enough away to mollify Sam and prevent another wordless conversation – with quick efficient actions. They’d never gone camping for _fun_ , but Dad had insisted they had skills like this, and tightly wrapped tents and sleeping bags were part of their standard kit.

Afterwards, the group was split into teams to do different activities. Sam was allocated (along with Katie) to do something called a ‘kick test’ in the water, which appeared to Dean to be pretty much the lamest of all the possible tasks, but Sam didn’t seem to mind, speculating happily with Katie about what they’d pick up on their dorky little trays in the sediment they’d disturb with their kicking, and whether there could possibly be any pollution this far from civilization. Sam told Katie, who was hanging on his every word, that the biodiversity of the sample would show how healthy the river was – the more diverse it, was the healthier it was. His brother was a giant, freaky geek.

Personally, Dean thought the schmucks doing the _dirt test_ were totally being stiffed, when they could have been sucking insects up some weird sticks to examine (endless opportunities for living spit balls), or setting up the camera trap for the larger wildlife, where something running through would set off up to 80 pictures in a minute to be developed later.

Miss Parker, (call me Jill, to Dean, with a disturbingly flirtatious smile) the teacher, split the adult supervision up as well, naturally putting Dean with Sam’s group without him having to ask, just as she allocated any parent who’d come along to their child’s group.

Dean therefore got to watch the exciting activity of dirt kicking. Great. Although there was the comedy value of Sam in waders and wellies.

Dean kicked back to catch some rays, eyes resting on Sam, and wished he had some music.

He lazily watched Sam and Katie lean eagerly over their geeky tray, sifting through it and then frown. Something was apparently wrong with their sample; _not kicked hard enough there, Sammy?_

They compared their tray with some of the other pairs in the group and they all appeared to be having the same trouble.

“Nothing…” Dean caught wisps of their conversation, carried mostly away by the breeze, “…not even red worms… they survive _anything_ …”

“Miss Parker!” Sam called their teacher over. “Miss Parker! There’s no marine life in here. None at all!”

Apparently some kind of biology emergency. Dean shook his head. His brother was a disgrace to the Winchester name, sometimes, he really was.

Dean caught some snatches of their conversation… “Extraordinary… perhaps further in… what could...?” and watched Sam and Katie and another pair wade further out into the river.

His instinct kicked in a second too late. He sat up sharply, and was about to call out to Sam when a shrill noise pre-empted him.

“Argh!” Katie squealed, throwing her hands up and appearing to stumble in the water. “There’s something…”

“Dean!” Sam called, splashing over to Katie.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, sprinting for the water _too far, fuck, too far away_. Sam had grabbed Katie’s arm, _like a Winchester_ of course, but Dean was _too far away_.

Sam was holding on to Katie, calling for Dean still, when _whatever the fuck it was_ appeared to let go of Katie.

Sam and Katie splashed towards the shore, Katie leaning hard on Sam, _slowing him down_.

“Fuck,” Sam yelled, as his knees seemed to go out from under him just as Dean reached the shore. Sam pushed Katie forward, away from him as he stumbled, dropped and went under, splashing loudly as he was dragged away from the shore. “Dean!”

Dean paused for a second to grab one of his knives, tucked into his boot, and then he leapt into the water, diving after Sam and managing to grab his wrist.

It pulled him under too.

Sammy had a hard grip on his wrist, but _fuck,_ Sam’s hands were cold, like ice leeching all the heat out of Dean’s skin where he held him, and where Dean grasped Sam tightly.

How had the river got so deep so quickly?

Dean couldn’t see anything but something, _something_ had a hold on Sammy, and Sam’s grip on Dean was slackening, and his eyes, black in the murky water, were closing.

Dean pulled himself up (down? Hard to tell.) Sam’s body, (Sam’s face so cold, so _cold_ when Dean brushed past it). There. _There_ , something grasping Sam’s leg, something with claws embedded in, wisps of blood, Sam’s blood, twisting in the water.

Dean slashed at the limb holding Sam with his knife. There was a noise, a scream that traveled unnaturally loudly and clearly underwater and the grip on Sam’s leg disappeared. A face, grotesque and scaled and surrounded by thick black hair, appeared up from the dark, speeding towards Dean, all flat eyes and sharp teeth, and Dean slashed at that too, making greenish/black blood mix in with Sam’s red and the thing went away with another shriek.

Sam was sinking and Dean reached out to grab his hand again, which trailed loose and slack above his head, and pulled him up with him to the surface.

Dean pulled a breath into his starved lungs and was shocked at how far from the group of students they were, that thing must have pulled them extremely fast to have covered that distance so quickly.

He kept a tight hold of Sam and pulled strongly to the shore. Sam was so cold, boneless, his cheek resting against Dean’s arm.

Dean dragged Sam to the shore, pulling him out of the water and laying him down.

“Sam,” he called, voice hoarse. “Sammy!”

Sam was unresponsive, his lips blue.

Dean’s body knew what to do – trained from an early age – he angled Sammy’s body and started compressions. He put his mouth against Sam’s (cold, fucking _cold_ ) lips and forced his own breath into Sam.

“Breathe,” he whispered, continuing compressions. “Breathe Sammy, please, Sam, breathe.”

He did mouth-to-mouth again, wishing he could just _give_ his breath to Sam instead of having it himself.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice was hoarse, and he could see water dripping onto Sam’s face from his. “ _Sam_!”

Suddenly Sam dragged air into his lungs, coughing and jerking.

“Sam!” Dean grasped Sam’s shirt, forgetting his training. “Sammy!”

He pulled Sam against him, feeling the heat from his body leech into Sam’s. He held him tightly.

“Fuck, Sammy,” he said, no other words coming to him. “ _Fuck_.”

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was even hoarser than Dean’s, slurred and confused. “Dean, what…?”

“Shut up,” Dean said, gripping Sam tighter. “Shut the fuck up.”

Sam’s hands grasped Dean’s biceps, weakly.

“Dean?”

“Never again,” Dean pressed his face into Sam’s disgusting wet and muddy hair, wiping his stupid tears away. “Never fucking letting you leave the house again, you fucking little _bitch_.”

“Sam!” A noise from behind them and Dean groped instantly for his knife again before his brain caught up with his protective instincts.

Sam’s teachers and classmates arrived belatedly.

“Sam, are you OK?” Katie, like she had some kind of fucking entitlement, threw herself down beside them. “Sam, oh my God, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam coughed, patting her shoulder. She took this as permission of some kind and grabbed Sam, trying to elbow Dean away. Sam reached for her, and so Dean moved, slowly letting Sam go. Sam wobbled, though, and Katie was too small to support him, so Dean moved back behind him, quickly, stopping his fall, propping him up.

“Sam you were so _brave_ ,” Katie squealed. “What was it?”

Sam’s eyes slid to Dean.

“Alligator,” Dean said instantly. “Huge fucking thing.”

Both the ranger and Miss Parker looked surprised.

“Here?” she asked, frowning.

“Yep,” Dean said. “Weird, huh?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Very.”

Didn’t know the fucking half.

***

In fact it had been a mermaid which had dragged Sam under and tried to suck the life and heat out of him, which was geographically weirder than alligators, but, hey, Dean didn’t care. He knew how to kill mermaids, and tomorrow he was gonna go and fillet that bitch with three feet of cold iron sword.

Miss Parker had insisted Sam go to the hospital, and Dean had ignored Sam’s pleading look, the memory of Sam’s lips cold and blue against his too fresh for any chances and let them take him. The hospital had released Sam after some tests, and now Sam was sleeping soundly in his own bed.

Dean watched Sam sleep, looking perfectly fine. Dad had said Dean could sleep in his room while he was away, but Dean couldn’t sleep unless he knew exactly where Sam was at the best of times, and so hadn’t taken him up on the offer, which was fortunate really, because there was no way Dean was getting any more than five feet away from his brother tonight.

Sam looked perfectly normal now, and had shrugged off Dean’s arm getting into the car after the hospital and bitched all the way home that he couldn’t have _one_ fucking school trip without monsters.

Dean had laughed and told him to shut the fuck up and stop being a whiny bitch, because at least it had made the stupid dorky trip more exciting, but now. But _now_ , now Sam was safely asleep... shit.

Dean couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get warm again, still feeling Sam’s frozen skin against his. So close, so fucking close. Sam had nearly _died,_ and Dean hadn’t been fast enough to get to him first, had been too far away, hadn’t even picked up his guns when Sam had yelled – just dived in after him with nothing but a knife. So fucking stupid. He watched Sam sleeping, breathing normally, but remembered Sam’s chest still, and his lips blue and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to do better. Had to _be_ better – had to take better care of Sammy.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes shot open.

“What?” He scrabbled for the knife under his pillow and looked around, searching for danger. Sam was standing by Dean’s bed, watching him with an unreadable expression. “You OK Sammy?”

Sam watched him for another moment, all long limbs and stupid bed hair. He needed a haircut, Dean thought randomly.

“Move over,” Sam said.

“What?” They hadn’t shared a bed for years.

“Move _over_ ”, teenaged irritation crept into Sam’s voice. “I’m cold.”

“You’re too big for this, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, but moved over anyway.

Sam got in beside him, and Dean tolerated Sam pushing him onto his side and spooning up behind him.

Sam’s breath huffed against his neck as Sam made himself comfortable in Dean’s bed, rearranging Dean to his satisfaction and pressing his skinny body against Dean’s back and wrapping his arms around him like Dean was a giant hot water bottle.

“Dude,” Dean protested, but not too loudly, not enough to make Sam let go, just enough for his masculinity.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

The things he did for his baby brother.

It was funny, though, how Sam didn’t really feel like he was cold at all; particularly not in contrast to Dean’s frozen skin. Sam felt warm and safe and close, and as Dean lay there thinking that, he didn’t even notice when he _finally_ stopped shaking and fell asleep in Sam’s arms.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are lovely, and if you’d like to comment please feel free to do so here or on [this fic at livejournal where it was originally posted ](http://jasmasson.livejournal.com/52886.html) as you prefer.


End file.
